


The Road Back Home

by Nellblazer



Category: Sons of Anarchy, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Bikers, Angst, Bikers, Danger, Eventual Smut, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Guns, Heavy Drinking, Inspired by Sons of Anarchy, Investigations, Multi, Multiple Pairings, References to Drugs, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellblazer/pseuds/Nellblazer
Summary: After returning to the town of Rhovanion after your father’s death, you’re determined to prove it wasn’t an accident. Can you really trust the three motorcycle charters to be honest with you though?*Please do not replicate my work anywhere else without my express permission*
Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield/Reader, Thranduil (Tolkien)/Reader, Éomer Éadig/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 31





	1. Welcome to Rhovanion

**Author's Note:**

> To keep posting whilst I'm working on the Tarot Challenge, here is something I've been sitting on for a bit.
> 
> Warnings: Grief, angst, bitter feelings
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)

I'd promised myself I'd never think about the town of Rhovanion again. Funny how life has a way of trampling over all your intentions sometimes.

I'd gone several years without being reminded of what I'd left behind, made a good life for myself out in the city and started sleeping through the night again about six years back. I was happy.

I suppose I should've expected the call, the call to tell me my dad was dead. He lived a dangerous lifestyle, a lifestyle I'd run away from. I was so tired of worrying about him, being around such awful people and I made myself ill wondering if he'd make it through each day without being shot or beaten to death. I couldn't cope any more and packed my bags the second I was a legal adult.

He'd tried to find me but I knew how to hide. He could thank his fucking motorcycle club for teaching me that trick.

The only thing that didn't make sense about the call was the cop telling me it was an accident. Now I can believe a lot of things but not that.

If there was one thing I was absolutely certain of, it was that the Riders of Rohan had something to do with his death.

**

The thing I hated about this town the most was that it never felt like you'd left, no matter how much time had passed.

All the stores were still the same, passed down through the families that ran them. All the bars were still the same, barely clinging on in the wake of the three main biker haunts across the town. All of the noises were still the same, that obnoxious revving always somewhere within earshot.

Even the air smelled the same: faint gasoline, the waffle diner and the scent of whiskey.

I wouldn't be back here unless I had to be but I needed to sort out my dad's house and money. I still had my key to his place and it still worked. I don't know if he never changed the locks because he was expecting me to come back or what but all those ill feelings of anxiousness crashed down upon me the second I walked in.

It got even worse when I went to my old room and saw it was completely untouched from the last time I'd been in it. The only difference was that the bed was made.

Now guilt was mingling with my other feelings and I wondered if I should've come back sooner but I know I made the right choice. I know I did.

If I all I had to look forward to growing up here was being some ornament in The Riddermark bar, I'd run away at the right time. I would always have been the daughter of the Vice President of the Riders of Rohan; a figurehead not to be approached or a target to be taken out by other gangs.

Right now, I was just a grieving child, clutching at her dad's embossed leather vest and wishing their childhood could've been different.

**

After a while I couldn't look through any more things.

His accounts were confusing, all over the place and I'm pretty sure there were offshore bank accounts I needed to chase up. He still had one set up for me as a university fund that was untouched and had more added to it each year that I was away.

That was the point I stepped outside for fresh air.

I had no idea where I was going but somehow I ended up at that tired little waffle diner with a plate in front of me that I barely registered. I was on autopilot, not tasting anything until I was jolted by the commotion that erupted around me when someone smacked into my back and my face hit the half eaten waffle, cream and chocolate syrup smearing over my lips.

“Hey hey!” the owner is pointing a shotgun somewhere behind me. “Get the fuck outta my place! Fight on your own turf!”

But they keep brawling. I can see them in the mirrored strip above the counter.

Riders of Rohan. Young prospects from what I could tell, still at that age where all they wanna do is drink, throw punches and get laid.

“This is neutral ground!” a deeper voice, an older voice comes from the end of the diner. “There's no fighting in here!”

“You can't tell us what to do!” the youngest shouts back.

“You'd wilfully tear up the agreement? I'm sure your president will be happy to hear that report. Why don't you ask him what happens to little boys who ignore the truce?”

They never learned, not in the years that I'd been away. Youth will always challenge authority.

They tried to dogpile the other person I couldn't see but it quickly got flipped around when I saw three of the Durin's Folk biker gang carrying them out by their ears and flinging them into the street. I half expected them to come straight back in but they decided they were going to be on the losing side and scurried off.

“Apologies, Bard,” the leader of the little troop calls to the owner who puts the shotgun away and sighs with a look of 'I'm too old for this shit'.

“Yeah yeah,” Bard goes back to the grill.

This place never changes. I'd not even been back half a day and already I want to leave.

“Are you alright?” the leader puts his hand on my shoulder and it's a much gentler touch than I'm expecting.

“Fine, just in need of a napkin,” I try to wipe my chin clear before turning to him.

“By Durin,” the man looks in shock. “It's _you_!”

“I'm sorry?”

“Eadwulf's daughter, yes? We were at school together.”

It takes me a moment to look past the thick beard, the sharper angles of age and the frame that's much larger than I remember it. It's mainly the eyes I remember, eyes that I've glared into many times before.

“Thorin...” I blink. “It's...it's been...”

“A long time,” suddenly his joviality makes way for seriousness. “We searched for you, you know, when you left? The only time the Riders and Durin's Folk have worked together. We didn't know if you were alive or dead.”

“I didn't realise Durin's Folk cared about the VP's daughter of another charter.”

“You've never given up that fire, have you?” I'm not sure whether he's amused or annoyed.

“Why did you look for me?”

“We were friends once,” he leans his arm on the countertop.

“Were we? As I recall you just got into trouble and I pulled you out of it.”

“You saw your fair share of trouble as well,” Thorin looks down at me. “ _And_ I had to stop you from sneaking off with Sons of Mirkwood boys before your father found out. Do not be high and mighty with me.”

“And that's exactly why I left, Thorin. I was starting to do things I didn't like, becoming something I didn't want to be. I'm not a Riders legacy.”

“It's in your blood.”

“Not by choice,” I knock back the rest of the coffee I have. “If you're just going to stand there and make me feel bad for getting out and having a good life, I don't want to listen to it. I have enough to be dealing with.”

“Eadwulf,” Thorin nods. “We heard.”

“And when I find out who killed him, and oh I know someone killed him, I'm doing one last Riders act before I leave this place forever.”

“You don't have it in you to kill, yearling,” Thorin uses the diminutive nickname I bore all through my schooling.

“Call me that one more time and you'll see what I'm capable of. I didn't like it then and I don't like it now.”

“So what should I call you? Filly?”

“Yes uncle?” one of the young kids trailing Thorin pipes up.

“No, not you Fíli,” Thorin looks to the heavens for help. “This is my nephew and that's my other nephew, Kíli. Dís got married whilst you were gone.”

“Good for her,” I fold my arms. “And don't call me anything. I won't be back here long enough to catch a new nickname.”

I'm about to go when Thorin takes my arm and draws my attention back. He's shooed his nephews back to their booth so we can talk alone.

“I never thought that Eadwulf's death was an accident. He's too careful for that,” Thorin speaks quietly. “Let me help you find out who did this. The charters are not as you remember them. Many things have changed, many leaders have changed....all of them in fact. I can get you information.”

“Why do you want to help me Thorin?”

“We were friends once,” he repeats, a fond little smile on his lips. “We would die for each other once. I still feel the same even though years have passed, even though we are on very different sidelines.”

“I'm not on _any_ lines. I have no allegiance,” I remind him.

“Then I won't get a backlash from Durin's Folk for helping,” he shrugs. “Not that I'd care if I did. Will you let me work with you?”

“You're just as annoying as you were at eighteen,” I huff. “Fine but any violent decisions you run through me first. I'm not my father and I'm not Théoden. I'm not standing for torturing anyone to get information. Understood?”

“Loud and clear. Though...you should know Théoden is not the leader of the Riders any more. He was killed helping The White Tree defend against Sauron's Eye. It's his nephew that's president now.”

“Éomer?”

“I did tell you, yearling. A lot has changed,” Thorin comes closer.

I don't know what he's doing at first, his hand rising to my face but he just clears the edge of my lips with the pad of his thumb. I can see chocolate and cream clinging to it as he pops it into his mouth to clean up.

“But apparently your eating habits have not,” he winks before calling over Fíli and Kíli.

They leave the diner but I watch Thorin as he goes, studying the back of his jacket which holds the hammer and anvil sigil.

A lot definitely _had_ changed because underneath the large patch was a smaller one. One bearing the title of 'President'.

**

I tipped Bard generously before I left because the poor man looked like he'd rather be anywhere than here right now.

Walking back down the street, I found myself looking out for more people I might know, people I'd grown up with. If Thorin and Éomer were now presidents of their charters, it stood to reason more of my childhood acquaintances were probably high ranking members by now. The turnover was high in this lifestyle.

I saw Éowyn from a distance, that same long blonde hair but she was packing a lot of muscle these days. She did always used to win in fights when she was younger. I wouldn't be surprised if she was the VP now.

I should've called out to her but I wasn't ready to face the Riders yet. I was still too raw with it all and I wanted to approach with a clear head and a plan.

So I walked on.

I wasn't looking where I was going particularly, still watching Éowyn fixing her bike on the fly when I smacked into someone coming around the corner.

I get a face full of silver blond hair and silver necklaces. Whoever it is grabs my neck forcefully. I react by taking out the pocket knife I still kept with my dad's initials on it and put it to their own throat.

“It appears we're at an impasse,” my assailant speaks, soft and dangerous in the tone.

“How dare you touch him! Do you know who this is?!” a woman with flowing auburn hair tries to get between us but the blond silences her with a single raised finger of his other hand.

“Peace, Tauriel,” he turns bright eyes to mine. “Answer her question. Do you know who I am?”

This was a face I knew without much effort. Thranduil had barely changed since my days of sneaking into Amon Lanc, the Sons of Mirkwood bar.

He still held that same ethereal beauty but it was more defined now, more distinguished. He also held the same arrogance and haughtiness in his face too. Being the heir apparent to the Sons of Mirkwood had given Thranduil licence to become the spoiled prince.

'The Prince of Thorns' we all used to call him, beautiful but terrifying in his mood changes and those mood changes were sometimes lethal. He may not have used the dagger or pulled the trigger himself but those who offended Thranduil were usually found in the backwater ditches after suffering a terrible death.

I'd always managed to avoid him when seeing my teenage summer fling, Eliion, in the far rooms of Amon Lanc but there was no avoiding him now.

“Yes, I know who you are, Prince of Thorns,” I don't break eye contact.

“Prince?” he raises an eyebrow. “You must have been out of town for quite some time. It is _King_ of Thorns now.”

“ _You're_ president of the Sons of Mirkwood?”

“Obviously,” he sighs, frustrated by my dawning comprehension. “So I suggest if you don't want to feel the rose's stinging embrace in your near future that you put your weapon away.”

“I will if you unhand me.”

I show no fear, give no signs of weakness...just like dad had taught me.

Instead of letting me go though, he pulled me closer so I was nearly flush against him. I could see his gaze studying my face, trying to see if he knew me. I didn't expect he would do. He never cared to see who the rival charters' members were or their families.

“I have not seen you before,” he finally comes to a conclusion. “Though you seem to know me by sight, albeit a younger version I expect. That defiance...that only comes with being around a charter for a long time. Your age....family member I think. You don't strike me as Durin's Folk. Not hotheaded enough or you would've tried to slit my throat already. Riders of Rohan it is. Am I correct?”

I say nothing.

“I know I'm correct,” his lips twitch into a smirk.

“I don't belong to any charter. Now get your hand off of my neck,” I say slowly and clearly. “I'm just here to sell up some things and I'm gone from this town. I'm not worth putting a hit out on before you get any ideas.”

“Presumptuous little thing,” Thranduil laughs. “But you do amuse me.”

He lets go and I put the knife away. The woman, Tauriel, relaxes a little at that and takes a place behind the Sons president.

He's about to walk by but he turns, looking over his shoulder at me.

“Tell me if I was correct. I shall be awake all night wondering otherwise and I'm not very pleasant when I don't sleep,” he surveys me.

“I used to be affiliated with the Riders through family,” is the vaguery I give back.

“I'm always right,” he smiles before starting on his journey again. “I do hope I shall see you around whilst you stay in Rhovanion. This has been _very_ interesting.”

I do my best to walk as calmly as I could, even though I felt anything but calm. To survive the Prince of Thorns was a miracle enough but now that he was the president of the Sons of Mirkwood? I clearly had a guardian angel watching over me.

I got back to dad's house and shut the door, locking all five of the deadbolts and just sinking down onto the welcome mat. One day and I was already slipping back into the survival mindset, being devil may care with my life. I hated it. I wanted to be back in my city apartment trying to keep my potted plants alive and failing at making cinnamon swirl bread.

It took me a while to realise I was sitting on a piece of paper that had come through the door and when I unfurled it, Thorin had written me a note.

_I remembered where your father lived so I dropped by._

_Just leaving you my number in case you feel unsafe. Rhovanion is a dangerous place these days._

_Don't go charging off on your own like you always used to._

_Call me any time of the day or night and I'll be there._

_\- Thorin._

I immediately plugged the number into my phone and sent him a text saying I'd received his note, just so he'd know who was contacting him if an emergency happened. Then I went through some more of my dad's old things, pulling down the guitar case from the top of the closet which held his guns and I kept his old pistol nearby and loaded, in case Thranduil decided I had been a nuisance after all.

Eventually I couldn't put off the inevitable any longer.

I had to go to The Riddermark and show my face. It was expected and I needed to talk to Éomer about my father's passing in private.

I picked up the leather vest with the faded horse sigil and the Riders of Rohan patch on the back, the Vice President one over the left breast on the front. I'd loathed this thing for so much of my life and now I slipped it on over my t-shirt where it hung just a little bit too big on me.

If I was going to walk into the Riders' bar once again, they weren't to know I was trying to root out the one who killed my dad. They'd never see it coming. I'd play the part of the lost daughter, heir apparent if I needed to.

Just because I'd walked away from this life didn't mean I didn't know how to live it.


	2. The Riddermark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You visit the Riders of Rohan bar to establish some ground for your investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, grief, bad coping mechanisms
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)

You know how they say smells can stir up memories? The alleyway at the side of The Riddermark bar threw me back over a decade ago to a time when my dad had drunk too much and called me to pick him up.

He'd somehow managed to simultaneously vomit and take a piss by the time I got there and that's exactly what it still smelled like. The acidicness of dried up sick and the cloying scent of urine.

Everyone went to do their business there if the bar's restroom was full, which it often was, of members and whatever clubhouse Sweet Butt they'd chosen for the night. Even I'd learned never to go in there if I didn't want to bleach my eyes afterwards from the shit they got up to with their pants off.

Dad had taught me to lockpick so I usually slipped into Théoden's private rooms in the back if I wanted privacy to relieve myself. Not that the old timer ever minded if he was in his rooms anyway. He found it funny how often I broke in.

“You took your time getting back,” comes the stern voice of Éowyn as she comes outside to grab her helmet. “We were expecting you days ago.”

“I was very far away,” I stare her down.

Anyone from the outside viewing this would think we were about to tear strips from each other but this is how we always were. We both gave a little snort of laughter before coming together and hugging.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” she murmurs in my ear. “I know you didn't get on in the end but-”

“-he was still my dad,” I clutched a little bit tighter before letting go. “I'm sorry about Théoden. I just heard.”

“It wasn't long before your dad passed that Sauron's Eye got him,” she sighs. “Éomer's beside himself trying to get a handle on how to be president. He doesn't feel ready.”

“None of us would.”

“Who told you about my uncle, by the way? You've not been in town for days and just not told us, right? I'd give you a right hook if you'd been avoiding me.”

“I only got back today. Went to the diner to get a break from going through dad's things and Thorin Oakenshield was there. Stopped some of your prospects from trashing Bard's place.”

“Was it Osbert and Bada? One wears braids, the other a mohawk?”

“Yeah, those two and a younger kid.”

“Shitheads. I'll get Éomer to extend their probations by another year for that. I call them Tweedledum and Tweedledumber. Sometimes they drag Tweedlebraindead along with them. That's Bada's little brother.”

“Still the same old, huh?” I shake my head. “I'd best go in there and face everyone.”

“Come on, I'll walk you in,” Éowyn pats me on the shoulder. “If anyone hassles you tonight, I'll throw them out.”

It was like stepping into a saloon in a western. The instant I walked in with dad's patch vest, tens of eyes came my way and everyone stopped...everyone except some of the lays that were still trying to get certain Rider's attentions. They quickly got shushed though.

Háma, the Sgt at Arms was the first to approach me.

“I could give you the hiding of your life for running away,” he narrows his eyes before giving a great huff. “But I'm just glad you came back, girl.”

After that first embrace, I stood there for about twenty minutes whilst the entire club followed Háma's lead. I listened to a lot of condolences, kind words about my father and welcomes back to The Riddermark.

I tried to assess each person, looking for guilt in their eyes but that proved to be difficult when the older Riders all seemed to blame themselves for the 'accident'. Gamling, the Riddermark club warden, was particularly self loathing about it but then he and my dad were very close friends.

When my re-introduction was done and when Osbert and Bada had sufficiently shit themselves to find out the woman they'd hit in Bard's diner was the VP's daughter, Éowyn reappeared from the back rooms with Éomer.

Here was another person I had to look past the beard and long hair to find the younger man I knew within. I swear he still had the same outfit on as the last time I'd been in here or maybe he kept buying new versions of it. You could always count on Éomer to have flannel somewhere about his person.

Far from being delighted I was back, he looked angry but masked it well with a generic greeting. Then he signalled me into the back rooms and I followed until he got me alone in the 'war room' with the giant carved table with a horse motif. I knew I was in for a world of shit when he locked the door.

“They may greet you as an old friend but I will not,” he turns around, jaw ticked. “How could you do that? Just disappear?”

I had expected someone to call me out on it but not Éomer. Usually he was much more chilled. I think the stress of running the Riders had gotten to him already.

“I made it very clear why. I was not going to become arm candy for this place and I don't give two shits about riding.”

“And that was reason enough to break your father's heart?” he gets in my face. “You couldn't just send him a message to let him know you were alive?”

“The second he had confirmation I was still out there, he would've dragged me back. You and I both know that. It was hard enough to disappear once, let alone twice.”

“You know, I take it back. You broke _all_ of our hearts that day. You were the darling of The Riddermark. You never would've been hanging off of someone's arm. They treated you like a princess.”

“I never asked for that and I didn't want it. I put up with this place because of my dad and I hated what it did to him. You think a fourteen year old girl needs to see her daddy stumbling into the house with a bullet wound in his shoulder? You think she needs to have that trauma of trying to patch him up because the hospital would ask too many questions? I'm not cut out for this, Éomer, I was never you or Éowyn.”

“Horseshit,” he backs me up so I feel the war table hit me in the back of the legs. “You think we didn't know you were up to no good with Oakenshield? You seemed pretty cut out for this life when you burned down the Sons of Mirkwood greenhouse.”

“I was piss drunk and I was being encouraged,” I make myself taller. “And I regretted it. That was the point I knew I had to leave this town.”

“The only thing worse than having your father look like all the light had left his eyes was the fact that you had _two_ fathers here. Théoden never got over it either.”

That blow landed home.

Even though I knew Théoden was ruthless at times, he'd treated me like his own daughter during the days where my dad was sent to our allies and couldn't be in the house. The guilt that I'd made him suffer too was the thing that finally broke me.

I'd not cried once since I'd heard the initial news but knowing I'd lost both my dad and Théoden, that they had both waited for me to come back and kept searching for me...I couldn't hold it in any longer.

The fight left Éomer immediately when he saw the tears and he just held me instead, stroking my back until I could calm down.

“I'm sorry,” he starts. “That was cruel of me. I was just angry and you looked like you didn't give a shit.”

“I give a shit, Éomer. This is the very thing I was afraid of,” I lean back, wiping my face clear. “But dad would never give up the club.”

“It's not the club's fault,” Éomer uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe more of my tears away. “It's sheer bad luck. Semi drivers have been racing on the outskirts of Rhovanion for a while now. We shut that down very quickly after the accident, killed the one who ran him over. They're bothering Eriador now.”

“How did it happen?” I ask, watching Éomer's face like a hawk. “My dad had the best reactions on a bike out of all of you. He never got clipped or fell once.”

“When a truck is blasting one-twenty on an intersection, even the best of us can't dodge that, little colt,” Éomer sits on the table next to me. “You missed the funeral.”

“I didn't mean to. It took me a while to get back.”

“Do you want to see him? Visit the grave?”

“Not sure I can face that just now. Took a lot to walk back in here.”

“Then do what you need to do. Go drink, go get under someone...whatever helps you cope.”

“Are _you_ coping alright?” I turn my head to look at him directly. “President is a big responsibility.”

“Yes it is but I suppose I've been preparing for it all my life. It just happened sooner than I expected,” he drags his hand down over his face. “I haven't chosen the new VP yet. Maybe you could suggest someone.”

“I've not been here in so long, Éomer. I wouldn't know who's showed the most loyalty recently. If this was fifteen years ago or so, I would've said Háma was the clear choice and put Erkenbrand in the Sgt at Arms position.”

“Most expect me to choose my sister for the VP. Family ties and all.”

“You and I both know you'll get nothing but grief if you put Éowyn in secondary,” I let out a small laugh. “She'll try to run this place from underneath you and make you think that's a good idea.”

“You're probably right,” Éomer smiles. “I have missed you, you know.”

“I missed you too, all the guys really but I needed to do what was best for me and worrying about you all was going to put me in a casket.”

Éomer loops his arm around my shoulders and puts his head against mine, “I accept that now. We put more of a burden on you than I think we realised. The Riders wanted a figurehead who wasn't part of the charter, a Citizen Darling and you were the one they wanted.”

“They just never asked if I wanted the same thing.”

“Some of them are going to enquire if you're sticking around for a while, even if you intend to take Eadwulf's place. Just be prepared for the questions,” Éomer stands up before leading me back into the main bar. “And just in case it wasn't obvious, drinks are on the house tonight if you need them.”

And I did need them.

Once the bad habits of talking back to dangerous folk had kicked in again since arriving here, the other bad habit I used to have also came back. Drinking my emotions away.

It wasn't helped by Éowyn challenging me to a shots contest and of all the traits I'd inherited from my father, an inflated sense of pride was probably the biggest one. Needless to say by the time it was truly dark, I was drunker than I'd been in a very long time.

“Do you need someone to take you home?” Éomer seems both amused and irked.

“Nope!” I declare, jumping up from the bar stool. “What I need is sleep and....what I need is sleep!”

“Take my bed upstairs. I'll be up into the early hours,” he thumbs over his shoulder. “Just don't throw up on it.”

“I could always handle my liquor better than you could, I am _offended_ ,” I probably play up the dramaticness a bit too much because Éomer calls Háma over as one of the few who hasn't been drinking tonight.

“Take her to Eadwulf's house...and make sure she has some aspirin ready.”

“Come on, little colt. There we go,” Háma walks me out of the bar.

“I'm fine. I was just playing up. I don't need an escort really,” I tell the Sgt at Arms.

“I know you don't but the boss is the boss,” he shrugs. “I'll watch you until the end of the street then go have a smoke. My number hasn't changed if you still have it.”

“I still do.”

I had a little folder on my phone for all the Rider's contact details just in case something caught up with me in my new life.

I set off back down the second largest street, ambling on my merry way with my equilibrium taking a turn for the worst. It felt like I was walking on an omni-direction treadmill, veering slightly if I didn't walk forward at full speed.

I took the back routes once I got near The Lonely Mountain, Durin's Folk's bar, because I didn't want a second round of explaining myself if Balin and Dwalin were still kicking. They used to wrangle Thorin and I when we'd cause too much mischief.

A hand came around my waist from behind and, with my senses a bit dulled, I couldn't struggle as well as I should've been able to. I was pushed into the wall of an alley and I heard the tutting before I saw the face.

“Not a member of any charter, yet you wear the Riders' vest now,” Thranduil wags a finger. “And the old Vice President's no less. I knew there was something more about you. It's been playing on my mind and I'd rather think about other things.”

“Is that why you followed me?” I boldly ask.

“That is _precisely_ why I followed you. I like to know who's in this town and why.”

“You didn't give a fuck before when Oropher was running the Sons.”

He raises his hand like he's about to belt me across the cheek and considering how many rings he's wearing, that would likely do some damage. He seems to think better of it as he leans closer and sniffs, nose wrinkling with distaste.

“You smell like a liquor store,” he grimaces. “I'll let this slide and it shall be the one and only time I do. I understand you're grieving and you're not in your right mind particularly but do not dare to speak of my father again, you stablemare.”

“Stablemare? Cute. Did you come up with that by yourself?” I can't help but antagonise him, pissed off that he's accosted me in the middle of the town.

“Keep talking and I may just personally deal with you myself.”

“I'm honoured,” I reply dryly, shoving him back.

The outrage in his face is almost worth the inevitable death coming my way.

“Do not make an enemy of me, my dear,” Thranduil straightens himself up. “I already remember who you are. The little princess of the Riders who kept finding her fun in Amon Lanc. You called me the Prince of Thorns. Do you know what we called you?”

“I'm sure you're going to tell me,” I boldly close the gap.

“The Horse to be Broken.”

“Surely 'The Wild Horse' would've been less wordy?” I end up laughing.

I don't think he was expecting that. There was a glimmer of curiosity to his gaze.

“You truly don't care that you're in danger, do you?” he folds his arms. “There is no sport to be had in someone who's self destructive. Go home. I'm sure we will cross paths again.”

“To the King of Thorns, I bid you good night,” I give an overdramatic bow before turning on my way again.

“To the Stallion's daughter, I bid you a better morning,” he calls from behind me.

When I got home, locked everything and sat on the couch, I realised a lot of things that didn't occur to me in the moment.

One, that Thranduil had always known I was in the Sons of Mirkwood bar when I was younger and two, that the nickname I was given by them meant they saw me as either something conquerable, someone to turn traitor or a way to hurt the Riders of Rohan. Neither of those things were particularly comforting.

I ended up drinking some of what was left in my dad's liquor cabinet, topping up my drunkness so I didn't have to face the sober reality. That, in turn, led to me calling Thorin at a ridiculous hour of the night, babbling that the Sons of Mirkwood president was likely going to take me out soon.

I'm not sure he understood most of what I said but he seemed very concerned and when I finally clocked that I was speaking to nobody on the other end of the line, I knew he was probably heading for the house.

Fifteen minutes later I get a hammering on my door.

“It's Thorin, let me in,” he calls.

Once I manage to fiddle with the deadbolts, I open the door and he's there, hair tied back with the two braids still falling over his shoulders and looking like I'd just woken him up.

“Shitttttt, no,” I apologise. “I didn't mean come around. I'm fine, Thorin. Really.”

“You're clearly not,” he scowls a little. “What the hell were you even thinking talking back to Thranduil like that?!”

“I _wasn't_ thinking, I think is the point,” I shut the door behind him, relocking it.

“And getting this drunk on your first night back when you know nothing about how Rhovanion works any more. Why would you think that was a good idea?”

“Éomer told me to work it out any way I could so I am doing. I didn't mean to drag you out of bed.”

“I would ask if you got any useful information but in your current state, that might be a stupid question.”

“Hey!” I push his shoulder and he doesn't move an inch.

“I'm putting you to bed,” he shepherds me up the stairs and towards the master bedroom, my dad's room but I stop, refusing to go any further.

“No, not there,” I half beg him. “I can't. Take me to my old room.”

So he does, making sure I have water on the nightstand and a bucket nearby. I feel pathetic right now but he looks after me without patronisation or a condescending word.

“Don't go....please,” I ask quietly as he makes to leave the room.

He takes a long breath, “Fine but only because you rarely say 'please' to me.”

Thorin sets himself up in the rocker I had by the window where I used to read books to stop being so anxious when dad was late home. I nearly burst out giggling at the image of the big broad biker under a floral blanket but I had enough sense not to sour his good will. He'd done a lot for me already.

“Go on then,” he pulls his hood up and down over his eyes. “Get some rest, yearling. If the pretty boy king comes in the night, I'm here.”

“Thank you,” I yawn, settling back down as he turns off the lights. “I've missed being around you, Thorin.”

“I know you have,” he replies gruffly, still half asleep. “Now close your eyes before you say any more embarrassing things. I can and will use them against you.”

I decided I should probably take his advice.


	3. Inside the Lonely Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to pay your respects to your father but grief can make you do funny things sometimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, grief, torture, mentions of blood
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)

I woke up long before Thorin did, my head pounding and my mouth dry as a bone.

I was thankful he'd set out the water for me because I gulped it like a lifeline, glad he wasn't awake to see the pathetic display in front of him. He seemed quite peaceful in the rocker so I left him to it, going to shower, dress and make some coffee.

When I came back with a cup for him, I had to shake him gently awake and that was an extreme task. He was a heavy sleeper and only when I wafted the mug under his nose a few times did he wake up.

“What time is it?” he grumbles, taking the offering and sipping immediately.

“Little after ten.”

“I have to get back. I have a meeting at eleven,” he cricks his back as he sits up. “But if I'm going to be your late night bodyguard, I'll need a better place to sleep. I'm not a young man any more.”

“Soooooo memory foam mattresses for you then?”

“You laugh but they work wonders for old injuries,” he looks up slyly, drinking more. “I...you could always...you know...stay at mine? I have guest rooms and Thranduil won't be expecting you to be there. No one will. You could come back here during the day to finish sorting through Eadwulf's things and then do what you want with the house after.”

“If the Folk find out a Rider's daughter is in their president's house-”

“-they'll probably congratulate me,” Thorin interrupts. “It's not like it was, yearling. To steal an Old Lady away from another charter and have her be yours is a badge of honour.”

“I'm not anyone's Old Lady,” I frown, sitting down on the bed. “And I'm not letting anyone think I'm yours either. That's only going to shut down my Riders side of the investigation. This has to be kept quiet, Thorin.”

“It's not going to be that simple. I need you to come to the meeting. It's about our information on Eadwulf. Durin's Folk will know you're seeking our help and more than half of them know we were friends. The connection will always be made that we're in contact by any of the other charters who are watching.”

“Yes but talking and staying at your house are two different things to people. One is seeking justice, the other is seeking a good time.”

“It'd be better than good but I get your meaning,” Thorin smirks. “I'll get you a wig or some such. Make it less obvious when you come to my door. I'm sure one of the Sweet Butts has a collection.”

“Before we go, just so I know how much grovelling I have to do...are Balin and Dwalin still around?”

“Oh they are and they already know you're back,” Thorin stands up, finishing his coffee. “I can't say I care to repeat what they said. It was quite passionate.”

“Right...a _lot_ of grovelling then.”

“I'd go for the hug quite early on if I were you. They've gone soft in their old age,” he tips me off. “Let's go and for god's sake leave Eadwulf's vest here.”

So I climbed onto the back of his dad's motorcycle he'd inherited, belovedly named the Arkenstone, as he headed for The Lonely Mountain and I'm sure he drove like a prick just to make sure I'd cling onto him. He always used to find that amusing when we were teenagers.

The inside of The Lonely Mountain was a lot more decadent than I remembered.

I'd always thought the Folk had some nice interior design skills but the whole place was like some golden glittering art deco speakeasy. Even the pool table was solid gold with rich red baize covering it.

Have you ever seen big buff bikers drinking fruity cocktails? Well I have now. Would I dare say anything about it? Hell no. I'd ask for one myself.

“We learned they get you drunker quicker after Dís made a display of herself one night,” Thorin notices me eyeing Kíli with the luminous blue drink. “Then we all tried some and it was much better than beer.”

“I love this place,” I laugh.

“Could always call it home properly?” he shrugs. “You were never a true Riders girl.”

“Because I always used to end up in all three bars? I just like the variety.”

“And the danger,” comes a familiar voice and I turn to see Balin with his arms folded, even more tattoos covering his forearms so not an inch of bare skin showed. “You have some explaining to do, young lass.”

“Balin!” I take Thorin's earlier suggestion and throw my arms around him.

He flounders for a second, unsure of what to do but eventually returns the hug and just gives up. He could never stay mad at me for long, he found my teenage antics too amusing.

Dwalin, on the other hand, came up behind me and delivered such a stinging blow to my ass that I yelped and caused several of the members to start howling with laughter.

“He may let ya off light but I won't,” Dwalin grumbles.

I let go of Balin, hugging Dwalin now instead and the grouchy Sgt at Arms eventually caves. I pull away as they lead me into the back room with their own war table which bore the same motif their jackets did.

It was strange seeing Thorin in the president's chair, more like a throne really but I was so used to seeing Thráin there that it threw me off a little. I did wonder what had happened to Thorin's father but it wasn't the time to ask.

“Everyone settle down,” Thorin calls as the Folk take their seats. “Some of you might be wondering who this is, this is Eadwulf's daughter. She's come for our help because she believes her father's death was not an accident. I'm inclined to agree. Eadwulf was one of the best bike riders in this town.”

“Should we care about the Riders VP's death?” one of the younger members asks.

“Ori, if someone is taking out the high rankers amongst charters, wouldn't you like to know before they try it with us? And if this is information that can bring down the Riders, that's a bonus.”

“Oh you're only helping because you used to fool around with this one,” I recognised Glóin behind the bushy ginger beard.

“Not all of us are led by what's in our boxers, Glóin,” Thorin rolls his eyes. “I've given my reasonings. This is either a way to protect Durin's Folk or take down the Riders. I sent Kíli to the mortuary to shake some information out of the doctor who performed the autopsy. Kíli? What did you find out?”

“Well first off, she just gave me the information,” Kíli smiles wide. “No one can resist when I put on the charm-”

“-Kili, get on with it,” Thorin's head is in his hands.

“Right, sorry uncle. She told me the injuries from the truck happened _after_ he was dead. He had other ones before that.”

“What kind?” I interrupt.

“Uh, blunt force trauma I think she said?”

“Shit,” I pace a little. “So someone beat him to death and then staged a scene.”

“Anything else, Kíli?” Thorin asks.

“Just that whatever he was hit with, they hit with a lot of force.”

“Sounds like someone was very angry at Eadwulf,” Balin plays with the end of his beard. “Which is surprising because he was the more agreeable one out of him and Théoden. Dwalin, do ya remember if the Sons had any trouble with the Riders recently?”

“Not that I know of,” Dwalin shrugs. “Sons have been relatively quiet for the past couple of years since Thranduil took charge. They have their own problems with Sauron's Eye lately. The Dol Guldur mini charter keeps hassling them.”

“Then I might have to look at the Riders themselves,” I lean my arm on the side of the throne.

“And what will you do if it _is_ someone you know?” Thorin looks up at me.

“Exactly what they did to my dad.”

“Lass, leave it to us,” Balin tries to be kind. “You've not got an aptitude for killing.”

“You don't know me anymore, Balin. It's been over a decade and this will be the last time I'm in this town so I don't give a fuck any longer. If my dad has been doing shady shit then fine, he might have deserved what was coming but I know him and I know he's by the book. I want to kill this fucker and make it slow.”

“Peace, yearling,” Thorin uses that calm voice that always draws the anger out of me. “You'll get your opportunity. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, go see if any of the cameras were working around that intersection. Nori, Dori, Ori, go check the local truckers and whether they know who was driving or who had lent the truck in question. Understood?”

“Yes,” comes a murmuring.

I think my impassioned speech helped to clinch their assistance. I'm sure most of them remembered the sheltered way I used to be and knowing I was ready to get physically involved now had earned me some points with them.

Everyone left the room bar Thorin and I who just reclined in his throne. I have to say, he suited the presidency. He'd grown into a natural leader since I'd left.

“I think that went well,” he eventually says. “You still don't know etiquette though, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You're leaning on the throne. The president's Ol' Lady leans on the throne. I'm sure you just confused a lot of people.”

“Glóin already made that inference about us. It's whatever.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he tries to look exasperated.

“You know I don't care about club rules. I'll sit on your damn lap next time I'm here and that'll really make them go cross-eyed.”

“I'd like to see Dwalin's face if you did that,” Thorin begins laughing.

“I still can't believe he spanked me.”

“You deserved it,” he stands up, grinning. “Now, go somewhere that isn't The Lonely Mountain for a while. If you're here all day, it'll look suspicious.”

“Yeah, I should probably visit the grave.”

Thorin puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it, “I'd come with you if I could.”

“I know. I need Éomer to show me where it is so I won't be alone.”

Thorin shows a microsecond of distaste before walking me outside. I know him and Éomer never got on particularly well in our youth. Éomer was a tad too happy to play pranks on the Durin's Folk younglings and Thorin would always take the bait and start fights in the school yard.

“Message me if you'd like someone else to talk to other than the donkey,” Thorin uses the old moniker he gave Éomer. “And I'll see you at my house later. It's still the same one.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

**

I was standing in front of my father's grave, not really processing the letters etched there. It took me a while to realise they'd made his nickname bigger than his actual name and that really ticked me off for some reason. Like the club had to get him even in death too.

“We didn't know what you'd like so we just had to put something,” Éomer is watching me closely. “We can change the headstone.”

“You _will_ be changing the headstone,” I say firmly. “He wasn't 'The Stallion'. He was Eadwulf.”

“Not many people called him Eadwulf in the end.”

“Other people don't matter. I'm his _family_. Are you really going to fight me on this?” I look at him incredulously.

“No, no...I'm sorry,” he looks a little ashamed. “I'll put in a call tomorrow. I got you this, by the way.”

He pulls out some Elanor flowers in a bunch from his satchel, golden stars bright against the muted green stems. I can't believe he'd remembered I liked those.

“I....” I trail off, taking them.

“We never stopped caring about you, little colt and we definitely never forgot you. Go on, Eadwulf would want these to be given by you.”

So I arrange the flowers in the little vase in front of the headstone before standing up, not knowing what I should feel. I was caught between guilt, anger and shame right now.

“Hey,” Éomer brings me into his chest when he notices I've gone quiet. “It's alright. I'm here for you.”

It felt nicer that he didn't say 'we'. I didn't want comfort from the club, I wanted comfort from old friends.

“This is such a bad idea but can I go get drunk again?” I ask.

“After the mess you were last night?”

“I just...”

“Fine but I'm watching you this time. Éowyn pushes you far too hard.”

That was how I ended up in Théoden's upstairs rooms drinking with Éomer as we talked about the old days when we had no responsibilities. I was frankly amazed we didn't get interrupted by someone as the Riders always had some business happening somewhere but he must've told Háma to deal with things tonight.

“It's nice to know you didn't hate us,” Éomer leans back on the bed. “I thought I'd said something wrong the last time we spoke, you know, when we had that fight about you being friends with Oakenshield? Seems ridiculous now.”

“It _was_ ridiculous,” I lean back too. “But I was never angry with you for it. I understood it was weird to be friends with a Durin's Folk boy, I just didn't care what anyone thought. Still don't.”

“You know, there were a million things I wanted to say if you came back but for the life of me, I can't remember a single one,” Éomer laughs softly. “That's your fault for getting me drunk.”

“You did that to yourself. I told you I was better at holding my liquor.”

“Little colt?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything the Riders have done to upset you.”

“That's not your apology to make.”

“It is now, so I'm making it,” he turns to face me. “Anything you need, name it and I'll do it.”

“I can't think of anything right now but I'll let you know,” I smile at him.

One thing I could at least rely on was that Éomer would have never been involved in my dad's death. It was nice just to let my guard down and not be analysing every expression or word someone said.

“You're staring at me,” he notes and I realise I've zoned out completely. “What's wrong?”

“Just in my own head at the minute.”

“Come here then,” he pats his chest and raises one arm for me to curl up against him. “You can just be quiet there without making me feel like I've grown five heads.”

“That might be an improvement,” I settle myself on him.

“Now I remember how mean you are,” he snorts.

“I'm not mean, I'm just honest!”

“Same difference,” he moves his head down at the exact time I move mine up to give him an earful and we collide faces a little bit, very ungracefully.

I don't recall who made the first move but I was kissing Éomer before I could reason that this probably wasn't the best thing I could do in my current state.

He made it very difficult to stop when his kisses were so gentle, not rushed or overly passionate, just caring. In fact, I ended up chasing them when we broke apart for breath.

“We shouldn't do this,” he lies his head back against the mattress. “You'll only regret it tomorrow.”

“Would _you_ regret it?”

Before I get an answer to that question, there's a knock at the door and Éowyn is calling for her brother to come downstairs. Club business.

“Time to earn this president patch,” he groans in annoyance before detangling himself from me and standing up. “You should get home, little colt. We'll be talking about some unsavoury things tonight in The Riddermark.”

“Alright, good night Éomer,” I stand up, ready to go.

I don't quite know how to leave. Do I kiss him again? Do I just go? What's worse?

He just shakes his head at me before caging my face in his hands and giving me a soft lingering peck on the lips.

“Doesn't have to mean anything. No need to stress yourself about it,” he says seriously. “Go on now.”

**  
  


I left The Riddermark into the cold night feeling a little confused about myself. I hadn't meant to do that but it didn't feel like a wholly horrible thing either. In fact, it felt kinda nice.

He was right though, it didn't have to mean anything. Casual encounters happened in abundance in this town but I'd always made a point of not poaching on my own back yard so to speak. I'd never really seen Éomer in that light before because of it.

Whilst I was replaying the kiss over in my head, I was unnerved to discover I'd wandered very close to Amon Lanc, the Sons of Mirkwood bar. I was nearly in their back lot before I managed to pull my head together and turn around but slightly raised voices caught my attention in a small alleyway and I poked my head around the corner.

Two of the Sons were either side of a prospect who was on his knees, shaking violently as Thranduil paced in front of him. I immediately hide myself a little better but continued to spy on the scene.

I think I just wanted to know how dangerous the King of Thorns really was.

I'd never seen a man wield a sword in this town but Thranduil produced one then. I half expected the guy to be run through with it but the Sons president had other ideas.

“Oh Cothanar, we had such high hopes for you,” Thranduil paces. “How disappointing to learn the insults you've been speaking behind my back.”

“I didn't say anything I swear!” Cothanar tries to protest.

“No? Then how do you explain your phone conversations? Your social media messages? These all have evidence of your transgressions. I was alerted when I was in Bard's diner and you came in with one of those Sauron's Eye girls. Have you been on their side long?”

“I'm not Sauron's Eye! I'm not!” Cothanar looks visibly ill. “I didn't know who she was! She was just a warm hole for the night, you know?”

“I _don't_ know apparently, according to your messages. I'll tell you what's going to happen. I'll give you one cut for every offensive name you've called me, every insult and every time you mention you should defect to the Dol Guldur mini charter of the Eye. I'll read some of my personal favourite highlights out. Boys, hold him.”

Cothanar is stretched out between the two other Sons and held in place as Thranduil produces a long sheaf of paper which unfurls like a scroll as he idly twirls the sword by the grip.

“ _A complete brat who lives off daddy's pocket money_ ,” Thranduil reads and then brings the sword across so quickly I barely see it but the blood beading on the guy's cheek opens up instantly.

“I'm sorry!” Cothanar tries but he's just confirmed his guilt rather than garnering mercy.

“ _I can't believe the Sons is being run by some pretty boy model type who'd snap in two if you sat on him for too long_ ,” another slash.

“ _He'd make a better Old Lady than a president considering how fucking pampered he is_ ,” one across the chest this time and it's a lot deeper.

“ _I bet he's never learned how to please anyone. He seems like a taker and_ _ **you**_ _have to do all the work. If he wasn't the Sons heir, he would never see any action,”_ one across the stomach.

“ _This is a charter club, not a boyband_. Now _that_ one is my absolute favourite,” Thranduil's laugh is icy. “I counted twenty seven offences in your correspondence. You've had four cuts...only twenty three more to go. Hold still or you might lose something more than I intend...not that I care.”

I couldn't look away from the violence. I'd seen my fair share of it as a kid but something about the way Thranduil moved with the sword was so elegant and graceful that I felt it would be rude to look away, like it was a performance piece to be appreciated.

Cothanar disappeared under a sea of his own claret, the whites of his eyes burning bright in contrast as he tried to plead for clemency but there was no stopping the King of Thorns once he was incensed like this.

When Thranduil was done, he produced a burgundy handkerchief with a flourish and cleaned the sword off before resheathing it. He'd barely exerted himself it seems and that was terrifying to think about.

“Take him to the salt caves, strip him and leave him in a pile. If he makes it through the night, I'll hand him over to Dol Guldur but I doubt they would want him back. Perhaps, Cothanar, you should be praying for death rather than life. I have heard they're very fond of putting their failed spies in cages to starve to death.”

Cothanar whimpers, trying to curl into a ball but unable to do so without opening some of the cuts up further.

“Take this thing away, I can't stand to look at something this pathetic so late in the night,” Thranduil curls his lip.

With Cothanar being dragged away down the opposite end of the alley, I felt safe enough to lean against the adjacent wall just to process things. At least I was definitely sober now.

If that is how Thranduil treated those in the Sons charter, I was _very_ lucky not to have been murdered already for talking back to him. I should watch myself in the future.

“Did you enjoy the display?” Thranduil's voice is right by my ear as he emerges from around the corner.

“Jesus, fuck!” I jump, clutching my heart.

“Oh, I appear to have scared you,” he smirks. “Terribly sorry.”

“I was just leaving,” I push off the wall.

“Without telling me what you thought? You're usually so good at saying whatever comes to mind. I could see you watching from the corner of my eye.”

“I wasn't doing it intentionally. I just wandered too far.”

“Indeed you did. So wander a little closer and give me an answer. I don't like to be kept in suspense.”

“You're very skilled with a blade. That's why I kept watching,” I finally admit.

“Many see me as just a figurehead, one who doesn't get physically involved but I _like_ to be underestimated. Remember that, young stallion.”

“I'm not young,” I blurt out before I can help myself.

“Ah, _there_ she is,” Thranduil's eyes glitter. “I was wondering where the sharp tongue had gone. I did imagine I might have frightened it out of you with my personal revenge just now but you just don't stop, do you?”

“It's who I am, King of Thorns.”

“I'm beginning to realise,” he replies dryly before divesting himself of his long velvet jacket. “You're shaking, my dear. Awfully cold at night sometimes. Here, let me.”

I don't want him to but I stand there as he drapes the jacket around my shoulders, hands lingering a while before stepping back.

“You can return it tomorrow,” he starts walking away.

“Did you just give me this so I'd have an obligation to see you again?!” I call after him.

“Clever little thing,” Thranduil laughs mirthfully. “You and I have something to discuss, dear stallion and I'd prefer to do it away from the neutral zone. Midday sharp. If you're late, I'll find you and bring you back here myself.”

It was a cruel irony that his words chilled me so much I had to grip his jacket just to give me some comfort and warmth. I couldn't imagine anything good would be coming out of that future conversation.

**

I didn't end up going to Thorin's straight away.

Instead, I went to Bard's diner which was still open, albeit very empty. Bard, for his part, was watching a fishing show on the TV in there.

“You wouldn't happen to do milkshakes at this time, would you?” I ask.

“If you don't mind waiting a little bit,” Bard gets up. “You're Eadwulf's girl, aren't you? Everyone's been talking about you today. Didn't recognise you.”

“I wish everyone else didn't either,” I sit on the stool in front of him as he moves behind the counter.

“Rough night?”

“You could say that.”

“Anything to do with you wearing Thranduil's favourite jacket?”

“Oh shit,” I take the thing off quickly. “This is his favourite? He put it on me so I'd have to go to Amon Lanc tomorrow.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I don't think you need a milkshake. You need a whole damn sundae with the works.”

He sets about making me one before pushing it in front of me.

“You want my advice? Post the jacket via registered mail and bounce this town. I've already seen Oakenshield around you and I'm guessing you are sorting your dad's stuff out with Éomer. It's not a good idea to be caught between the three of them.”

“I don't have a choice,” I start spooning cream into my mouth. “I have to stay until my dad's estate is settled and I can't exactly trust anyone else to go through it considering what he might have been up to.”

“Then all I can say is come here as often as you can. They know not to start fights in here and they can't declare wars in here either. This is a safe space if you need it. The only thing you'll have to put up with tonight is the fact that now I've made you a sundae, I want one myself. “

“Have at it,” I gesture. “The company would be nice before I have to go back into it all.”

So I sat eating ice cream with Bard who filled me in on how the truce got started which turned out to be because some nomad biker called Smaug had purposefully turned all the clubs against each other until full on street warfare happened. Since Bard was the one who shot Smaug, his diner was declared a neutral zone and nobody was allowed to mess with him, no matter what he did.

“Wow, things have been pretty crazy since I left.”

“You could say that. I can say it's been fucking awful but it's much quieter now. The sundae is on the house, by the way.”

“Oh no, I couldn't-”

“-you've gotten me a lot of customers today who wanted somewhere to gossip. You've made me a lot of profit actually. One dessert won't break the coffers.”

“Thank you.”

“And thank you. It's nice to have some company that doesn't try to antagonise me all the time. I've lost count of how many cocksure prospects try their luck in getting me to lose my temper.”

“Used to be Bilbo that they did that with. The rookie cop. He still around?”

“Police chief now and also massively on the take from all three charters. Looks the other way when his conscience will allow it.”

“That's a shame. He was nice back in the day. Real earnest.”

“That's what Rhovanion does to you, sweetheart. Sooner or later, everyone leaves their morals at the door.”

There was probably some truth to that. I'd already openly declared I was willing to murder after only being back a day.

I needed to do my investigation and get out of this town quick before it pulled me back in and I could never escape again.


	4. The Mysteries of Amon Lanc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The obligation to return Thranduil’s jacket does not fill you with joy when it means stepping on enemy territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, Grieving Process, Nightmares, Violence, Attempted Non-Con, Dangerous Situations.
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)

When I got to Thorin's house, I felt quite paranoid.

Bard had given me a backpack to store Thranduil's jacket in because I was sure if my friend saw it, he'd have a few choice words. The last thing I wanted to start was another bout of street warfare when the peace had been held for so long.

I looked around myself several times before I knocked on the back door. Thorin answered, still towelling off his hair from the shower and stepped aside to let me in.

“Have you got everything you need to stay over?”

“Uh...”

Honestly, it had slipped my mind. Between the grave visit, the confusing kiss with Éomer and Thranduil's scheming, I hadn't gone home to pick up some night clothes.

“You are hopeless, yearling,” he shakes his head, wryly smiling. “You can use one of my t-shirts and I think I have a spare toothbrush around.”

“Thank you. My memory's been terrible lately.”

“Understandable. I'll be back. There's food and drink in the kitchen, help yourself.”

He disappears upstairs as I just wander around. I hadn't been in here for quite some time.

I used to sneak into the upstairs window to visit Thorin when I needed to vent about my dad and, although I was a Rider's daughter, Thráin never kicked me out when he caught us both in the bedroom. We did get some stern lectures but I was surprisingly well tolerated by Durin's Folk.

I looked over the photographs on the living room wall: Thorin's journey from short, stocky teen to a big bodybuilder of a man, Thráin's journey to Durin's Folk president after succeeding his father Thrór and the expansion of the Lonely Mountain, Dís and her husband who I recognised as Ivaldí and their two sons, Thorin's mother Nŷr who passed many years ago and Thorin's brother Frerin who died just before I left this town.

“I'm sure they would've had something to say about you being here,” Thorin joins me with a branded Lonely Mountain t-shirt.

“As long as your dad wouldn't have talked to us about safe sex for an hour again just because I was sat on your bed...completely clothed.”

“He was just looking out for me,” Thorin laughs. “Mother liked you a lot though.”

“I liked her. She was fierce,” I smile. “When she hit Oropher with her shoe that time. I wanted to laugh so hard.”

“He had it coming,” Thorin hands over the clothing. “I'll get the bedroom set up.”

“I'll go change.”

In the bathroom, I get myself settled and put on the t-shirt which hangs ridiculously big but affords me a lot of modesty. It was difficult not to slip back into the mindset of my younger self being here but I couldn't afford to get too invested because it would only have been harder to leave in the end.

There was a knock at the door and just as I was exiting the bathroom, Thorin opened it. I was in full view of the scantily clad girl who'd turned up at his house. She looked past him and did a double take.

“I didn't realise you had company,” she seems very put out. “I guess I'm game if she is.”

“Randvi, now isn't the time,” Thorin stops her from entering. “Go home.”

“Oh...oh I see. Isn't she the Riders girl?”

“ _Randvi_...” Thorin warns. “Go home.”

Eventually she backs away, looking very affronted and Thorin closes the door before she can say anything else. The awkward atmosphere makes me have the most inappropriate reaction.

I start laughing. I start full on giggling at the situation, doubling over as Thorin just puts his hands on his hips and sighs.

“Are you quite done?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“I'm sorry,” I stuff my hand over my mouth. “I didn't mean to cockblock you.”

“It's fine. I wasn't in the mood anyway,” he shoos me up the stairs as I carry on sniggering to myself. “Oh be quiet, yearling. You realise she'll tell everyone at The Lonely Mountain?”

“Considering some of the comments, I'm sure they think we're in bed together anyway,” I open the door to the guest bedroom. “Rumours always circulate in this town.”

Another attack of the giggles gets me and Thorin just gives me the most unamused bitch face in return. I don't even know why I find this so incredibly funny.

“If you don't shut up, you and I will fall out,” he folds his arms.

“You'd never fall out with me and you know it,” I poke him in the chest.

He responds by playfully shoving me so I stumble and drop onto the bed. Then he just gives me the most shit eating grin like he's won, which he hasn't, and goes to the door.

“Good night.”

“Wake me up before noon, I have places to be,” I call after him.

“Use an alarm like a normal person,” he sasses back.

It feels strange being in a different bed again and it takes me a while to fall asleep but when I do, I feel much safer than in dad's home. I knew Thorin would never let anything happen to me.

**

I awoke in the night to terrible shouting.

In my panic, I bolted up from the bed and grabbed a lamp so I had some kind of weapon as I approached where the noise was coming from. It was nearly dawn, the orange hues creeping through the window and staining the marbled flooring but that didn't make the scenario any less uneasy.

I soon worked out the sound was coming from Thorin's room and I burst in, expecting a fight to be had but instead he was thrashing around under the sheets, shirt drenched in sweat. He must be having a nightmare.

“Thorin!” I put the lamp down and manage to cage his flailing arms until he stilled a little and then jerked awake. “Hey! Hey! It's me. It's just me.”

“It's....” he slowly coming back to himself. “I...”

“You were shouting. I came to see what was happening.”

“I'm sorry,” he sits up, flipping on the light and draining the water by his bed in one huge gulp. “It hasn't happened for a while.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Stay with me for a bit?” he peels the sodden shirt off and throws it across the room, missing the laundry hamper.

“Jesus, fuck, Thorin!” I catch sight of the deep scars on his chest. “What the hell happened?!”

He gets self conscious and tries to hide beneath the sheets but I won't let him. I jump on top of him, yanking them fabric away so I can study the lines and gouges. My fingers trace over the pink and silvered skin as he avoids meeting my eyes.

“Tell me,” I press. “I want to know who did this to you and if they're still alive so I can do something about that.”

“They're not alive any more, yearling,” he exhales long and hard.

He tells me about Smaug's influence from the Durin's Folk perspective and how Smaug'd brokered a deal with Azog from the Dol Guldur mini charter to kidnap Thráin. They'd successfully managed it, torturing Thorin's father until he'd lost his mind.

By the time Thorin found him, Thráin had starved to death in a cage in the Dol Guldur warehouse.

“That is what I have nightmares about,” Thorin admits. “Seeing him like that. I dream he tells me I should've been quicker, I could've done more. They've eased off in the last year but I still have them.”

“There's nothing more you could've done,” I pull him until he's sitting up with me on top of him and just hold him to me.

I figured he doesn't want me to see him being this vulnerable and when he buries his face into the top of my chest, I know I'm right. His pride was worse than mine.

“The scars came from the fight with Azog. I killed him but he took pieces off of me before he did. I nearly didn't make it. I...I didn't want you to see because you'd already expressed so much hate for how dangerous this lifestyle was for your father. I didn't want you to look at me in that same light.”

“I see _everyone_ in that light,” I answer bluntly. “I'd rather none of you were doing this.”

“Not that simple.”

“I know. I know you're all stubborn shitheads. I'm sorry about your dad, Thorin. I didn't want to pry.”

“You know you can always ask me anything.”

“Then I'm going to ask if you're okay.”

“I am now. Thank you for helping,” he reaches up to touch my face.

I give him a small peck on the lips. It's nothing unusual for us. We always used to be very tactile with each other, even practised flirting techniques on each other.

This is why everyone always got the wrong idea about us when we were young.

So when Thorin didn't let me go, when he chased me for something more insistent, I was a little surprised. I knew he probably wanted affection, given the horrible story he'd just told but I was unused to him wanting more.

When the kiss starts getting into deeper territory, when he's clutching me to him, I know I need to back off. If I cross that line, I'll never end up leaving and I was already confused about Éomer.

“You should probably try and sleep,” I pull away.

“Sorry,” he seems a bit dazed. “Sorry, that was wrong of me.”

“It's alright. You needed comfort. Maybe you should give Randvi a call and ask her to come back. I'll put some headphones on in the other room if you need to work some stress out.”

“I don't need Randvi,” he lies back down and I get off him. “I'll be fine. Go on, you need to be up soon and I'm keeping you awake.”

“Sure,” I slide under the covers next to him. “Good night then.”

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure if you have another nightmare, I can stop it quicker. Now shut up and turn off the light.”

“I don't remember you being this bossy,” he laughs to himself before flipping the switch. “Thank you, yearling.”

“You did the same for me,” I adjust the pillow.

“Well the horse will always need a smith so they can run,” he uses the old cryptic phrase we'd come up with at seventeen. “Sleep well.”

**

Thorin woke me up at ten which gave me time to go back to dad's house and prepare for whatever was coming at Amon Lanc.

I dressed in the farthest thing from the Riders colours as I could, no reds or browns for me. I didn't want to advertise an allegiance I didn't really have.

I was hoping too many years had gone by for people to recognise me so I could slip under the radar.

Before noon, I was outside the bar, walking in and seeing the familiar art nouveau green lamps that always reminded me of mushrooms as they clustered on the ceiling. In fact, the entire bar reminded me of a forest but Oropher was always incredibly dramatic about his fashions so it was no wonder.

There was a dais at the back of the bar which housed a throne, a twisted tree branch design but it was currently unoccupied.

“You seem lost,” comes an impatient voice from my left.

I turn to see Legolas, Thranduil's little brother looking decidedly unamused by my presence. I'm not sure if he knows me or just doesn't like newcomers but he was incredibly hostile.

“I'm here to see your brother. Pre-arranged appointment,” I say back tersely.

“You're not his usual type.”

“I'm not a lay, thank you.”

“If you say so,” Legolas rolls his eyes. “Like I've never heard that before.”

“I'm the Stallion's daughter. Thranduil asked me here to speak to me.”

That shut Legolas up immediately. Now he just seemed puzzled, slightly curious.

“What does he want with a Riders girl?”

“I don't know. That's what I'm here to find out. Could you go get him please?”

“Fine. Wait here.”

I don't like throwing my dad's nickname around but I'm not giving anyone the impression I'm Thranduil's warm body for the day. I'd rather do a striptease in The Riddermark than have that gossip flying around.

I sit at an empty table, listening to the goth rock they're all so fond of here. It's boring being made to wait and even me trying to spot Eliian for old time's sake was proving fruitless.

“Not seen you here before,” a guy sits next to me, uncomfortably close.

“Not been here before,” I lie.

“Looking for some danger?” his meaning is clear.

“I wouldn't find it here if I was,” the cutting remark slips from my lips before I can get a grip on it.

I need to have a chat with myself. I'm not a teenager any more. I'm not off limits to retribution.

In the next instant, he's moved in front of me, one hand to my throat and is pushing me back so my head is not far off the table. Nobody seems to give a damn around me about the scene unfolding.

“This dangerous enough for you?” he whispers, long dark hair swishing at my cheek. “Or do I need to stake a claim on you in front of everyone? We don't mind that sort of thing here.”

He wasn't expecting the right hook I gave him but he quickly recovered, turning it into a brawl. From the lack of interaction again from the others, nobody seems to care.

“Like it rough, huh? I can work with that,” he growls.

A slim hand slithers over the guy's shoulder, “I would suggest you unhand my guest, Gadrion.”

The guy, Gadrion immediately lets go, backing up so I can see Thranduil behind him looking completely impassive. That was usually the point the King of Thorns was at his most terrifying.

“Apologise,” Thranduil orders.

“Look, she talked shit to me. She deserved to be put in her place.”

“As do you for flouting my hospitality.”

He moves so quickly that by the time Gadrion's head smacks off the table, I make a noise of surprise far too late. Again and again, Thranduil mercilessly beats the man's face into the wood until I hear something crack and then splinter with each successive blow.

With a grand flourish, the King of Thorns throws Gadrion into the centre of the bar where I can see his nose is completely broken, splayed to one side and crushed.

“If any one of you should put a hand on a guest in my bar, you've seen the consequences,” Thranduil announces loudly. “If this happens again, the next time I will not stop until I see that person's head open for me. Do we understand?”

There's a fearful murmur and Thranduil signals his brother over.

“Clear this up, will you?”

“Maybe you should've told them who she was and they would've kept their hands to themselves,” Legolas mutters.

“Perhaps but sometimes the Sons need reminding why I'm in charge. Throw him out. He's not allowed back in Amon Lanc for the next month.”

“I'm not your servant.”

“But you _are_ a club member so do your part, little brother,” Thranduil taps Legolas on the arm. “I need to speak to this one alone.”

The King of Thorns grabs my hand, leading me towards the stairs and the mezzanine that overlooks the bar. There's one rich velvet green couch up there where I assume Thranduil does business from. You can't see what's happening from below but above you can see the whole expanse of Amon Lanc.

Currently there's a man up there who's buttoning his jeans back up.

“Leave us,” Thranduil dismisses him. “I've lost the mood.”

The man seems disappointed but doesn't dare question the order. He goes back down the main bar area, leaving us alone.

“Do accept my sincerest apologies,” he sits down and I join him. “This is not how I run my charter. Drink?”

“I think I'd better,” I accept the liquor he pours for me.

“I was impressed with the punch though,” Thranduil lounges back, crossing one leg over the other. “Takes a lot of guts to start a fight in another club's bar.”

“What can I say, I have a knack for getting into trouble,” I down the drink. “Here is your jacket.”

I retrieve it from the bag and hand it over and he just seems greatly amused.

“You even folded it,” he laughs. “Aren't you just a darling?”

“What am I here for, Thranduil?”

“You're here for your father. I have information if you'd like it.”

“And what's the price?”

“You tell me where you've been all this time. Information for information.”

I could always move the second I got back to the city. There was not a great chance of him finding me in the future.

“You first. Age before beauty,” I lean back also.

I'd gathered he seemed to like that I wasn't fawning over him like people used to and probably still did. From the way his mouth curled into a slight smile, I knew I'd figured out just how to deal with him.

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow. “Am I not beautiful?”

“You know you are. You always played up to it.”

“And yet you never approached me on your midnight jaunts into Amon Lanc. Too intimidated?”

“Hardly.”

“Not interested then. Well I suppose there's a first,” Thranduil takes a sip from the glass. “Your father's death was no accident.”

“Yes I know. He was beaten to death. I've done my own research.”

“He was killed with a bearing press, what you use in the steering for a motorcycle. I had the murder weapon found. No forensic evidence on it but it was discarded near Dol Guldur.”

“So he was definitely murdered by a biker then. Dol Guldur wouldn't have gone after him without gunning for Théoden first. The killer was planting a false trail.”

“And now you, where have you been and why?”

“In the city starting a new life away from all this mess. I wanted something more normal.”

“Whyever would you want that when you're born for this role?” Thranduil seems genuinely baffled. “You carry yourself like charter royalty, you _speak_ like charter royalty. You could take over that ridiculous horse ranch club if you wanted to.”

“That's not who I am.”

“I must say your ambitions are not very attractive, dear stallion.”

“I don't care what you think is attractive,” I lose my patience with this farce. “What I care about is finding out who killed my father and if anything, even the tiniest breadcrumb leads me back here-”

“-yes?” Thranduil leans up, towering over me as he sits ramrod straight. “What will you do? Kill us? Kill me? You can certainly try but I don't think you could look a person in the eyes and watch the light leave them.”

I just end up glaring at him as his own gaze is locked to mine in a challenge. He wants me to make the threat but I'm not going to give him ammunition to use against me.

“I think we're done here,” I say coldly.

“Not quite,” he grabs the front of my shirt as I make to go. “You're leaving with the impression you're in control. You are not. Allow me dispel the cosy notion that you've built up about your younger years here.

All of those times you saw Eliian, my father _let_ you. He knew you were here, he allowed it. Eliian was to get you hopelessly infatuated enough to stay the night and my father would've kept you here as a hostage. You were never safe, young stallion. You were working off of borrowed time.”

“And why would Oropher want me to be a hostage?”

“Théoden had gravely insulted him. This would've been payback.”

“Why not have _you_ do the dirty work then? Why Eliian?”

“Because I disagreed with the plan,” Thranduil surprises me. “All it would've achieved was rallying both the Riders and those in the Folk you were friends with. I do not know much about your father but I know he would've moved heaven and earth to get you back and I did not fancy being on the receiving end of that kind of wrath. Plausible deniability.

Back to my original point though, Riders' daughter, you are not as invincible as your sharp tongue seems to think you are. Be very careful what you say to me. I may have championed your corner once but that was many years ago and I have changed. The game is no longer what you think it is.”

“No, it's not. There's a new player on the board,” I push his hand off me. “One who doesn't answer to any charter. If I die, fine, but I _will_ find out the truth and I hope for your sake you had nothing to do with it.”

“Even as I warn you not to threaten me, you still do.”

“Well now there is an understanding between us,” I don't look away, even though I'm scared shitless on the inside. “I like to be clear.”

Thranduil's hand comes into my hair, grabbing at the root and dragging my head back until he's looking directly down at me. It's a power play, that much is obvious but I don't cower.

“And let _me_ be clear, I will give you what information I can but do not think you can ever take me down. I'm not as reckless as my father.”

“We shall see,” I grit out.

I catch the flare of interest in his eyes and, had one of his subordinates not come up to get his attention, I'm not entirely sure what would've happened next.

“Boss, Radriel is calling. It's urgent. Someone's broken onto the set again.”

Thranduil closes his eyes for a second to gather himself before looking up, “I'm rather busy.”

“She wouldn't call unless it was important.”

“Fine. Tell her I will call her back in ten minutes,” Thranduil jerks his head in a dismissal before looking back at me. “Never work with the porn industry, young stallion. It's one problem after another. The Riders had the right idea to produce drugs. Far less temperamental.

Off you go now, I'm done with you at present. If I find anything new, I'll be in touch. I know where you live after all.”

He removes his hand and I fix my hair like nothing had even happened. I couldn't let him see that he'd rattled me. The moment he knew that, I would never claw back what power I had.

So I left as calmly as I could, walking to Bard's diner,

“Are you alright?” Bard must've caught the expression I was trying to hide.

“No.”

“Go in the kitchen,” he thumbs over his shoulder. “No one will disturb you there.”

“What's wrong?” Éomer appears from a booth.

“Hey, back up,” Bard warns. “My diner, my say so. She's going in the kitchen to be with her thoughts. If she wants you there, she can tell you, otherwise go back to your seat.”

“Do you need me, little colt?” Éomer stops in his tracks.

“I just need to be alone for a second,” I call over my shoulder.

When I get towards the sinks in the back, all the tension I'd been holding left me at once. I started gasping for breath, staving off the panic attack that was trying to grip my chest and twist my air away.

This did not come naturally to me, the tough facade. I was having to constantly check my real emotions around Thranduil for fear he'd use them against me but I also had to walk that fine line of keeping him amused by my defiance but not giving him the excuse to kill me.

I don't remember when I started crying but Bard offered me a clean kitchen towel so I could compose myself.

“Stay in here as long as you need. Éomer's still out in the diner and I don't think he'll leave any time soon now but I won't let him get in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” I take a steadying breath.

I knew Bard had kept his word when there was a ruckus outside and yelling. I needed to face the Riders president sometime though.

I went to the door and opened it a fraction, seeing Bard with his shotgun, not currently aiming it but just holding it. Éomer was standing there with his hands up looking concerned.

“It's alright, he can come in,” I say to the beleaguered owner.

“You mess up my kitchen and I'll blow your head off,” Bard warns as Éomer jumps the counter and joins me.

“You've been crying,” Éomer's fingers brush my cheek. “What's happened?”

If I tell him Thranduil is the reason I'm upset, I know he'd charge straight over there and cause a scene. Éomer is too protective to keep a calm head.

What he did to Faramir from The White Tree when he came on too strongly to Éowyn took the young boy a long time to recover from.

“I keep finding things my dad had set up in case I ever came back. I just wanted some air but...” I trail off, hoping the lie was convincing.

“Hey, come to the ranch with me,” Éomer says softly. “We'll ride some horses like we used to. Do some racing maybe and get your mind off of it for a while. Would that help?”

“Yeah, yeah it would. Just don't laugh at me if I fall off. It's been a long time.”

“Me? Never,” he winks. “Come on, little colt. Let's get you some proper air.”

When he leads me out past Bard, I mouth a 'thank you' to him which he nods his head to. I really needed to buy this man a gift basket sometime for being so nice to me.

I got on the back of Éomer's bike, clipping the helmet on and holding onto him as he revved the engine and took off.

As we did, Thranduil was walking along the street with his jacket back on. When he saw me and Éomer riding by, the annoyance was plain to see until his face fell back into neutrality.

I wasn't sure if he was angry with me or the Riders' president I was clinging onto.

Perhaps I should not go back to my dad's house for a while.


End file.
